2nd Rate Subway

Fuck Quizno's.

There I said it.

There is a Quizno's on the groundfloor of my office building, and it has a long-standing reputation for poor service. The first time I went in there the place was deserted. Four people, myself included. The other three were workers. They were seated at the table when I walked in, and they paid me no attention until I made it obvious I was ready to order. I did this first by coughing, then by clapping my hands together. After about 45 seconds of clapping at regular intervals, one of the workers decided it was time to get back to work.

Now, listen:

I loathe working just as much as the next person. If I had it my way, I would lay in bed watching faux-court shows with the most recent ex-football player who has decided to pick up a gavel. Unfortunately, things don't turn out that way. Even worse, you find yourself doing the work of detached and/or faceless people who possess amounts of money you will never see in your entire life.

That is how it is for me, and that is how it is for the workers at Quizno's because that is how 99.9999% of the population lives.

So, I order a sourdough bread bowl with broccoli and cheese soup. The woman informs me they are out of broccoli and cheese soup.

This should have been a sign.

I was really pissed because broccoli and cheese is the jam. Stuff is my shit.

Anyway, no broccoli and cheese. "Okay, I'll have the mushroom then. That doesn't have meat in it, does it?" The woman shakes her head. Multiple synapses fire in my brain, and I take that to mean that, no, the mushroom soup has no meat. I order the mushroom.

I get back to my office with a delicious smelling sourdough bread bowl and some mushroom soup. I was very excited. I turned the corner, and there it was...

My boss was sitting in the meeting room, ready to pounce. He looked like Shere Kahn. I reeked of fear. He apologized for the poor timing, and asked if I could go over a few things with him before I ate. He said it would only take two minutes.

Sure.

Twenty minutes later, I am poring over a Word document trying to rearrange some information into something discernible. I should have done this earlier in the day, and, so, I was frustrated with myself. I finish. I send. I begin my pre-meal rituals. Not two seconds later, my boss' voice rings out from down the hall.

Three seconds after that he is in my office giving me another thing to do before I ate. What we were doing was definitely time sensitive, but I like food.

This happened another time, and by then I was steaming. I have never worked with such determination and furvor. In minutes, I was finished, and with a full head of steam I tore into my Quizno's bag like a scavenger tearing into a freshly dead corpse.

Well...

There was meat in the mushroom soup.

I don't even remember getting on the elevator. All I remember was how my body tensed up when I saw those pieces of meat. That is how I know I'm angry.

"I would like you to throw this soup out for me."

Blank stares.

"I asked you if there was meat in this soup, and you said no. There is meat in this soup. I don't want my money back, I don't want something else, I want you to take this bag from me and throw out this soup."

The woman motioned to a trash bin. No words.

"Great. Do you mind throwing this soup in there?"

The oldest woman there came over to the register at this point. She had been watching the entire exchange.

"Do you want something else?"

"No," I said, "It would only taste like lies."

"I told you it did have meat in it," said the woman who made the initial mistake.

"I asked you if it had meat in it, and you shook your head no."

"So?"

I was incredulous.

"Look do you want something else?"

I was speechless.

Did I hear her wrong? Was all this my fault?

"Do you want something else?"

"Yeah, do you have any Tylenol?"